Freya Udenhout Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Findin a prostitute ain’t no picnic, tho. Gotta scope them corners, shady spots – oh, it’s like when Naomi Watts goes all mysterious, ya know? “What’s your name, sugar?” I’d ask, nasal as hell, twirlin my blue hair. Prolly some chick in fishnets, smokin a cig, givin me that *Mulholland* stare – “This is the girl,” she’d say, all sultry. Ha! I’d be like, “Girl, you need a makeover, stat!”

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Then I hit up the local market on the Markt. Man, the smell of fresh stroopwafels hit me like a freight train. I had to get one. Or two. Okay, maybe three. Don’t judge! They were calling my name. I’m standing there, stuffing my face, when I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, trying to haggle over some flowers. She’s like, “I’ll give you two euros for those tulips!” The vendor’s like, “Lady, they’re ten!” And she’s all, “But they’re wilted!” I’m dying laughing. Udenhout’s got character, for real.

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